


Soul and Body and Spirit

by GoddessofBirth



Series: Stranger things in heaven and earth [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergent, Canon-Typical Violence, Demon Stiles, M/M, references to past abuse, spoilers in the author's note for episode 3 x 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoddessofBirth/pseuds/GoddessofBirth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac finds out by accident.</p><p>He wishes it were something he could unsee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul and Body and Spirit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jamesdean-audreyhepburn](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jamesdean-audreyhepburn).



> Written for jamesdean-audreyhepburn, who won my services in the Stisaac Library Tumblr reblog contest. She requested demon!Stiles, and hopefully I have delivered. For the purposes of this verse, it is canon divergent in that Boyd and Ennis are both still alive. Also takes place in the same verse and _Blood and Flesh and Bone_ but can easily be read as a standalone.

 

He finds out by accident.

 

He wishes it were something he could unsee.

 

It happens during the final crescendo with the Alpha pack, when they're all doing battle in five hundred different places and he gets separated from Stiles. (This is also the battle where Peter inadvertently turns Chris, but Isaac does not give one fuck, not one _tiny single solitary fuck_ , about that.) Aiden and Kali are dead, along with several of their betas - Fucking _betas_. Who the fuck knew the Alpha pack had been hiding betas this whole time? – and Isaac ignores Scott yelling at them to _stick together_ and takes off down one of the side halls of the factory, in the direction he last saw Stiles disappear.

 

He can smell him, and also Ennis, and the panic he feels drives him harder and faster. Because Stiles is smart, and Stiles is brave, but Stiles is still _human_. And Stiles trapped one on one with an Alpha can only end one way. The scent grows stronger, and laced with fear, and Isaac can only be steps away. He bursts around a corner and into a boiler room and -

 

\- it takes his brain a few minutes to comprehend what he's seeing. The smell of fear is from Ennis. Ennis, who is pinned against the wall with his feet dangling three feet off the floor. There's nothing holding him there that Isaac can see, and even with every muscle visibly straining, he's not moving an inch.

 

Stiles is standing in the middle of the room, his arm outstretched toward Ennis and his fingers splayed. When Isaac comes tearing through the door, his heads snaps toward him and Isaac skids back, full stop. Stiles' eyes...his _eyes_... Black and shiny and not just his pupils and not just his irises, but the whole goddamn thing. His face is vicious and feral and his lips are turned up in a sneering grin of joy.

 

Isaac feels sure the scent of terror is coming from him now, too.

 

Stiles blinks. A puff of sulfur fills the air and disappears, and when his eyes open, they're honey brown again. He grimaces and wrinkles his nose. “Awkward.” And he looks so... _Stiles_...that Isaac could almost dismiss what he saw – what he's still _seeing_ – if it weren't for the fact his life has been a waking nightmare for the last few months and he's seen too much to pretend otherwise. Stiles looks at him for another few seconds before sighing. He reaches out with his free hand and flips it, palm upward.

 

The door behind Isaac crashes closed.

 

“I kind of wished you'd waited a few minutes there, babe. Not that I don't appreciate the thought behind it.” The _babe_ and the way Stiles – the _thing_ in Stiles' body – looks so genuinely happy that Isaac was looking for him, finally snaps Isaac out of his daze. He growls and bares his fangs.

 

“What'd you do to Stiles? Where is he? Is he in there? I swear to God if you've hurt him I'll rip you apart with my teeth.”

 

“Oh my _god_.” The thing that isn't Stiles shakes his head and makes a face. “Please tell me you didn't just say that. Please let me be hallucinating. No, seriously, of all the things you could pick up from Derek, _that's_ what you choose? Ew and gross.”

 

“Where _is_ he?”

 

Ennis makes some kind of noise, and the not-Stiles-thing snaps his head back toward him, that same cold, feral look crossing its face. He pushes his hand out further and Isaac can _see_ Ennis' throat start to crush. The sound chokes off and Stiles-but-not turns his attention back to Isaac. Another blink, another puff of sulfur, and the black eyes disappear.

 

“I need you not to panic here, babe, okay? Not exactly how I would have picked this to go down – well, to be honest I wouldn't have had this go down at all, but as usual shit does _not_ go my way.”

 

“ _Don't_ call me that.”

 

“What? Babe? But I always call you that.”

 

Isaac takes a step closer, his hands balled into clawed fists. “No. _Stiles_ always called me that.”

 

A look of sympathy washes over the not-Stiles face. “Yeah, see, here's the thing, babe. I _am_ Stiles. I was Stiles when you threw me across Lydia's living room. I was Stiles when I found you crying in the coat closet and gave you something to anchor yourself on. And I was Stiles when I was on my knees for you last night. It's always been me. It's been me for the last thirteen years.

 

“No. I don't know what you are, but you're not him.”

 

“A demon.” It says the words softly, with a small shrug. “I'm a demon. And my name is Stiles.”

 

He lets the word sink in. He's heard of demons; they all have. Ever since Deaton decided his whole vague schtick wasn't helping anyone, and Chris finally opened the bestiary for them, the pack's knowledge base has expanded radically. And no. This is just...no.

 

“I don't...I don't believe you. You're a liar. Demons _lie_. And Stiles _loved_ me. What have you _done with him_?”

 

“ _Christ_!'” It startles Isaac. For some reason he'd have thought it couldn't say that word; thought that would be more proof the Stiles from yesterday is far, far removed from whatever has taken his place. From the corner of his eye, Isaac sees Ennis' shift his arms, and it hits him that by dividing Stiles' – _its_ – attention, he's lessening its hold on the other werewolf. It doesn't seem to notice, as it rambles excitedly on, so like Stiles that Isaac's heart aches and he has to fight the urge to go to it, to calm it's obvious agitation.

 

“See...see, this is what you get when all your records are written by a bunch of...a bunch of _speciests_. Why is it...why is it...” It scrubs a hand through its hair before swinging it out expansively. “Why is it so hard to believe that I _do_ love you? Why do you people persist in this delusion we don't have emotions? For fuck's sake, look at how hard I've busted my ass to help you people while still playing along with your stupid ethical daydreams!”

 

“We _come_ from human souls. That's still what we are at our base, you know? Love, fear, _hate_...they're all still there.” Ennis' feet touch ground, and he's taken maybe two steps toward Stiles when Stiles whirls around, clenches his hand into a fist, and Ennis' throat explodes from the inside out. Ennis collapses in a pool of blood and consternation is clear on Stiles'...its... _fuck..._ Stiles' face when he turns back to Isaac.

 

“Okay, okay, maybe...maybe a little more _savage_ than the rest of you, granted, but I _feel_ them.” He gestures wildly to Isaac's side, to the long, deep claw marks Ennis had left there. “He _hurt_ you. He hurt you and do you think I would ever let him get away with that?” Stiles' lips curl up and now he looks less like the boy that doubled over in gales of laughter when Isaac short sheeted Scott's bed, and more like the boy who had once threatened to make a coat out of Isaac's pelt. 

 

But both of them still look like Stiles.

 

“Derek,” Stiles' face gets darker and darker and his eyes bleed to black, “Derek should just be glad I didn't love you yet. But if he ever puts his hands on you again, I will _rip his motherfucking HEAD OFF_.” Stiles is screaming by the end, and Isaac skitters back cautiously. As soon as Stiles sees it, he sucks in a breath and his face crumples.

 

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” Honey-brown eyes plead apologetically. “Don't be afraid of me. Please don't be afraid of me. You never have to be afraid of me. It's so much easier for me when you guys don't know.”

 

And it's fucked up, just _so_ fucked up, that Isaac wants to comfort him. “This is fucked up,” he mutters, and avoids looking at the remains of Ennis. He squints at Stiles – maybe Stiles....probably Stiles. “All those times you suggested we kill people. You weren't joking, were you?”

 

“No. Did I ever _say_ I was joking? But...but...I didn't kill anybody, did I? If the group said no, I went along, even if my way totally would have been quicker.”

 

Isaac shakes his head. “You could have saved Erica.”

 

“How exactly? I'm not a fucking magician, Isaac. I didn't know where she was any more than the rest of you.”

 

“You could kill them all, couldn't you? All the alphas. The Darach. You could have ended this a long time ago.”

 

“Okay, no.” Stiles holds up a finger, and it's then Isaac realizes how close he's gotten. Almost within arms reach. “First off, Darach's are scary as hell. They are not playing and even we don't mess with them if we can avoid it. Second off, I'm not here to save this town. I'm not here to solve every messed up supernatural problem that rolls across its doorstep. I said I help where I can. Without drawing attention. I'm kind of big on self preservation.”

 

“Why _are_ you here?”

 

Stiles gives him a look but doesn't answer. “Don't mistake the certain attachments I've formed for some kind of hero complex. I am not a hero and I am not an angel. Even angels aren't angels for crying out loud. You, Isaac -” Stiles cups his cheek and Isaac _hates_ that he automatically turns into it, that he whines in his throat and pushes into Stiles' palm. It doesn't stop him from doing it though. “- you, and my father, and -”

 

“He's not your father.” Isaac stops short, confused. “You...had panic attacks when your mother died. Was that...was that a lie? Did you just say that to get near me?” It's absurd that out of everything, _that_ would hurt the most.

 

“What?” Stiles looks entirely offended. “No!” He grabs the back of Isaac's neck and smashes their lips together. It's over too quickly for Isaac to either resist or kiss back; he doesn't want to examine which way he was most tempted to go. “I love you, idiot! I already told you that. I've told you that a bajillion times! Dude. Of course I had panic attacks. She _raised_ me. Do you...do you have any idea what it's like being stuffed into the brain and body of a three year old? It doesn't matter how long I've been around, I can only work with what I've got, Isaac. It means I was, for all intents and purposes, three fucking years old. And it's not like I was more than a teenager when I died the first time anyway. So don't you dare say they aren't my mother and father. They're far more my parents than the first set I had, I can tell you that! They made your dad look like Mother Teresa.”

 

Isaac carefully steps back as his brain starts making uncomfortable connections. “You said...” He goes slowly as he feels it out, “...you said you've been Stiles for thirteen years. Your mom died three years ago. Ten years after -”

 

“I didn't make the deal.” Stiles is shaking his head, angry and emphatic. “I wasn't the one who made the deal. And I didn't have the power to break it. She should have...she should have asked better. She should have made it airtight. Should have specified the kid's soul had to come back with the body. But she _didn't_. And so it came back with _me._ And this is my body now. _I'm Stiles_. _I_ chose the name. _I_ took care of them. _I_ kept them as safe as I could. I _still_ take care of him. And don't you...don't you worry -”

 

“ _Stiles._ ” Isaac grabs his face in both hands, because Stiles is shaking, and his shoulders are hunched in and _panic_ is rolling off him in waves so strong Isaac thinks they both might suffocate. “I believe you. I believe you. It's okay. You're _Stiles._ ”

 

Stiles shudders in his grasp, his brown eyes wet and wide and rolling, and his hands gripping Isaac's wrist so hard he would have bruises if he were fully human. Isaac whispers _you're Stiles_ over and over again until the shaking stops. Stiles stares at him, unblinking, and then slowly, without any indication Stiles' is trying to hide it, his eyes go ink black.

 

“Don't you worry,” he whispers, his forehead dropping to rest on Isaac's shoulder as his body goes boneless against him, “because I'm making arrangements. She's gonna come back.”

 

Isaac can hear the sounds of the battles still raging, and he knows they have to get back if there's any hope their side will win. Especially with Peter and Chris and Boyd out for the count. “Stiles,” he says quietly, running a light hand through Stiles' hair. “What happens now?”

 

Stiles straightens and grins winningly, all spit and attitude and bravado, the red that rims his eyes the only evidence of his breakdown. “Well, you can break up with me. I mean, I really, really, really don't want you to and really hope you won't, but you can. I don't...I don't want you with me if you think you have to be. So you can dump me. But, babe, I can't let you tell anybody, okay? I just can't. There are _reasons_.”

 

Isaac hardens his jaw and crosses his arms. “And if I do?”

 

“If you do...” Stiles casts around for something appropriate, and Isaac's stomach does a little flip flop when he realizes it doesn't even occur to Stiles to threaten _him_. “If you do, I'll kill Scott.”

 

Isaac narrows his eyes. “No you won't.”

 

“Excuse me?” Stiles looks so affronted Isaac almost laughs. “Demon here, remember? Exactly why wouldn't I?”

 

One corner of Isaac's mouth turns up as he answers. “Because you said you're Stiles. Because I believe you when you say you really love me. Which means I have to believe Scott is really your best friend. He's the reasons you're involved in this at all, right? So you wouldn't hurt him.”

 

Isaac does laugh then, a choked, ragged sound, when Stiles' face gets that angry, frustrated, _fuck_ look on it that he's seen a million and one times, and Isaac knows he's right.

 

“Fine. Derek then.”

 

“I'm sorry, I thought you were supposed to be convincing me _not_ to tell.”

 

Frustration mounts on Stiles' face as he continues to think, and finally Isaac shakes his head. “It won't work.”

 

“Why _not_?”

 

“Because the only people I care about are the same people you care about. Our _attachments_ as you put it, are limited. I'm pretty broken, remember?” 

 

And Stiles' face gets furious, just like Isaac had known it would, and he knows, that yes, for better or worse, this _is_ Stiles. “You are _not_ broken. How many times do I have -”

 

A scream of anguish echoes through the halls and cuts him off.

 

“That's Marin,” Isaac hisses. “Stiles, we have to get back. I won't tell, okay? I promise.”

 

He takes off running, with Stiles right behind him. “Okay, but what about the dumping thing? Is that happening? Is that gonna be a thing?”

 

Isaac shakes his head and laughs, just as they burst from the hall into the thick of the fighting. “I have no clue, Stiles. No fucking clue at all.”

 

He thinks he hears Stiles laugh back, but then he has to duck a metal bar that comes flying at his head, and it's a long and bloody while before he has the time to think about it again.


End file.
